They ask the same question. My brother, how you say... ? He is chalk, I am cheese?'
'But you know what sort of person your brother is,' Alex insisted, frustrated by the priest's prevarication. 'You must know if he could commit such a crime. And anyway, it's too easy to blame it all on histog.'
Pravic stopped tapping. Time to play the Englishman at his own game.
'Why have you come here?'
'Sorry?'
'Why you come to Bosnia? I ask you question.'
'Well, because I wanted to help. Because of all the suffering we've seen on the news.'
'No.' The priest shook his head. 'Why you come to Bosnia? Other reasons.'
Alex's brain raced. Did the cleric think he was some sort of spy?
'Well, since you ask, I did have some personal reasons too . . .' he floundered. 'There was an accident, you see. My son was killed. And then my wife left me...'
'You see?' the priest beamed. The response had been as rewarding as a confession. He tilted his head sympathetically. 'I'm sorry. But you see, there is never one reason for anything. You come to Bosnia to help us, yes, but to help you too. To make you feel better.'
'Oh, I wouldn't say...' Alex didn't complete the sentence. The priest was right.
'So, you ask why there are massacres here.' His lips puckered as if he were sucking on a straw. 'There are also many reasons.'
He held up a finger.
'Muslims attack Croats here in La9va valley. So, we fight for our villages, our homes, our lives. That a priest can say is righteous.'
He held up a second finger.
'Then, people want revenge for what has been done to them, just now and in history. That the church can understand, but not support.'
The third finger.
'Then there is what you call "personal reasons". A man - his sister is raped, his wife her throat cut, or. . .'A long pause. Whether to continue... ? 'Or it is done ... for pleasure,' he added finally. 'By a man who has black heart . . .'
He flattened his hand on the arm of the chair and looked down at his bitten nails.
'You mean your brother?' Alex asked quietly.
The priest thought of how he'd always hated his sullen, animal-like sibling. How he'd refused to protect him from their father's abuse in the way he'd looked after his sister. And how, once he'd realized what a monster his brother had become, his own soul had been gnawed by guilt at having abandoned him.
'We all make mistakes. Even God. His was to allow my brother into this world.'
Alex gaped at the admission.
'You're saying your brother kills because he likes it? He's a psychopath?'
The priest nodded. There was no point in disguising it.
'Haven't you tried to stop him? I mean, you're a priest as well as his brother.'
Father Pravic bristled. Why didn't these people understand?
'I told you, I do not meet Milan,' he said, his voice raised, smacking the arm of the chair. 'Not for long time. And how I can stop him? I have no power. God has no power. Only a ... a bullet has power.'
The priest's words hammered home.
'That's pretty strong. . .' Alex breathed. 'You're saying you think your own brother should be executed.?'
Pravic pursed his lips again, saying nothing.
'What about the HNIO?' Alex asked. 'What do they think?'
The priest shrugged. 'In war, armies make good use of men who like to kill...'
'But if the UN could do something to stop him, could put him on trial, get him locked away, you'd support that?'
Pravic smiled at his innocence.
'The UN are like you. Here to make themselves feel better. But yes. If I knew where Milan was, then I would tell the LJN.'
'But you've no idea?'
None that he was prepared to impart. He shook his head.
'You see, my brother knows well how to hide. When he was little, he was weak. Others in our village make fun of him. Then he grew stronger and other children they became afraid. They keep away. And there is a name they gave him ... I do not know in English. A creature that stings, with its tail above its head . . .' He curled a finger.
'A scorpion, you mean?'
'Scorpion, yes. They call him Scorpion. Because they would not see him, then suddenly he would be there and make them cry. . .'
A man with a lethal sting, with Bosnia for a playground, Alex thought.
Anywhere else and the police would be out in droves trying to catch such a creature.
'Where would he hide now, Father? Here in Bosnia?'
'Who knows? Maybe here. Maybe he go back to Germany. He live some years in Berlin. But perhaps he don't go there, because UN will ask German police to look for him.'
Alex saw that the priest was getting restless.
'Do you have a picture, a photograph of him?' he asked quickly.
'No. I have no reason to have one...'
'What does he look like, then?'
Father Pravic shrugged.
'He is not tall, not short. He has light hair, blue eyes, like many in Bosnia. But there is something. His eyes . . .' He screwed up his face.
'They never look at you, unless ... unless he is going to hurt you.'
Alex shuddered. The priest stood up. He'd said enough.
'I think they finish with your boxes now.'
'Yes. Yes of course.'
Back in front of the barn, the tailboard of the Bedford had been closed, the Scimitar commander looked impatient to be off.
The priest shook his hand. 'Thank you for help,' he said coolly.
'I'll try to get medicines for you,' Alex assured him, though he had no idea how. 'One other thing. Your brother ... what do you think he might be doing now?'
The priest hesitated, his expression hard to divine. Fear? Guilt even?
'To kill will be like drug for him. He cannot stop. Any person can be his victim. Here, it is Muslim peoples. But it could be you or me. There will be more. Many more. Give him the power ... and the weapon ... then what he did at Tulici will seem like nothing.'
He turned and walked away, his words rooting Alex to the spot.
Then came a shout. His UN escort was eager to move. Alex waved and climbed into the cab of the Bedford.
On the road back to Vitez, the priest's words churned round in his head.
A killer called the Scorpion, with dozens of deaths to his credit, dozens more in prospect, and no serious attempt being made to stop him. The situation was mad.
Back at the house he was startled to see two TV teams filming him as he reversed the Bedford into the drive.
McFee. Something had happened. Something terrible.
As he climbed from the cab, the camera crews were held at bay by the two MPs who'd spent last night on his sofa.
'Give the bloke a chance. He don't know about it yet,' he heard one of the soldiers say.
The sergeant took Alex by the arm.
'Can I suggest we step inside a minute, sir. There's some news, and it's not good.'
They hurried through to the living room without speaking. The stove had gone out and the room was cold.
'What's he done?' Alex snapped, ready to condemn the man. 'Tell me.'
'I'm afraid your mate's been found dead, sir.'
The soldier's emotionless words sandbagged him.
'Oh my God...'
He felt the blood drain from his face.
'Where.. .' he heard himself croak. 'What happened?'
'It was in a derelict house about half a mile from here.' The MP's look warned him to expect the worst. 'Someone shot 'I'm...'
'Christ!'
'And I'm afraid I must ask you to identify the body. We collected it this morning. The HVO tipped us off.'
'But ... but why was he shot?' he stammered, fearing the answer. 'What had he done?'
The soldiers glanced at each other.
'It's a right mess, sir, I warn you ... You know that business in Edinburgh - well, we think he was up to the same tricks. The HVO say someone caught
him doin' it to a young girl. He'd paid her fifty Deutsche marks, which is a small fortune round 'ere.'
'God! I can't believe it. . .'He sank onto the sofa. 'The evil bastard!'
He remembered the two armed men whose eyes had followed him back into the house last night - the locals must've been on to McFee already.
'Who shot him, the HVO?'
'They're not admitting it. Claim they don't know who did it. But whoever it was killed a woman last night too ... Illie.'
'Oh, no...' Alex groaned.
'They found another fifty Deutsche Marks in her pocket. The suggestion is that your chum paid her to procure the little girl for him.
Alex felt sickened. To come to Bosnia on the pretext of helping people, and then do that ...
'It's ... it's unspeakable . . .'
'Course, we can only go on what the HVO tell us. It could be a pack o'
Iles. But bearing in mind what we was told by the Edinburgh police, it's more 'an likely true. They think the dead girl up in Scotland was new to the game and didn't like what was happening to her. Someone heard screaming. They think he strangled her to shut her up.'
It came back to him suddenly - the night on the ferry from Ancona - McFee shouting 'shuddup' in his sleep.
'It's unbelievable .'He shook his head. The man was a monster and he'd had no clue . . . 'And the TV people know everything I suppose? It'll be all over the bulletins back home tonight.'
'And on Sky which can be picked up here. The camera crews were around when we brought the body back in. They'd got the gory details from the HVO.'
'Well, they'll get nothing out of ine. . .' Alex snapped, thinking of the pain McFee's widow must be going through. Then the sergeant's words caught up with him.
'What gory details?'
Again that annoying glance between the two soldiers.
'The press know about it, so it'd be better if you did too,' the sergeant began. 'They er ... they mutilated the body of your friend, I'm afraid. Hacked his knob off and stuffed it in his mouth.'
'And then they shot him.' the corporal added.
Alex voided the contents of his stomach when they showed him McFee's yellowing, blood-smeared corpse. The Scotsman's eyes had been open when he died; they still were, in rigor mortis - the eyes of a man who'd seen the flames of hell.
The MPs drove Alex back to P.Info, where they gave him tea with whisky in it, while he tried to get through to Farnham on the satellite phone. It took an hour; Mike Allison had already learned of McFee's death from the lunchtime news. He was horrified, fearing the goodwill Bosnia Emergency had built up in its short existence would be wiped out by the scandal. He told Alex to get himself and the Bedford back down to Split as soon as he could, and to ask for army protection.
'Peel the logo off the side of the truck,' he'd suggested. just in case some nutter thinks you're all perverts.'
Back in the house, Alex sat forlornly on the sofa watching Dragana make up the fire and dab at her eyes with a handkerchief'. He felt numb, unable to think straight.
The TV teams had hounded him on his way up to the house. What was McFee like? You must've had suspicions? How do you feel? - all the standard, stupid questions he remembered from when he himself had been on the other side of the cameras.
He'd said nothing and had tried to shield his face from the prying lenses.
Twenty years of concealment from the IRA blown out of the window. just the beard and the different surname still yielding some patina of protection.
'Hello? Alex?' A shout from the hall. The voice of Major Clarke-Hartley.
'In here.' Alex levered himself to his feet.
Dragana scuttled away, handkerchief to her mouth.
'Brought you a friendly face,' the Major told him. 'Tells me she's known you for yonks.'
Lorna walked in. He'd totally forgotten she was coming.
'Hi, Alex. I'm so sorry.', Her voice cracked. 'Alan's just told me this stuff about Moray. It's too awful. I can't believe id'
He felt tearful suddenly and embraced her with more intensity than he'd intended. She resisted for a moment, then moulded to the shape of his body.
'I, er ... I'll get out of your hair,' the Major stammered. ' ust wanted a word about tomorrow, Alex. J
Mike's called me personally to ask us to protect you on the way down to Split. What I suggest you do is join our regular logistics convoy heading south at eight in the morning. There'll be a relay of Warriors to get you from here to Gorm, then after that there should be no problem. You'll be well beyond the range of any of the local hoods.'
'Sounds good,' Alex replied, recovering. 'Thanks. Eight o'clock you say?'
'Yes. And I've had another thought. . .' Clarke-Hartley flinched at what lie was about to suggest. 'Would you mind ... I mean, d'you think you could possibly take the body bag with you?'
Alex caught the alarm in Lorna's eye. It was a living passenger they'd planned to put in the back.
'It's just that there's an RAF Herc leaving Split on Thursday that could take it back to the UK,' the major explained.
'Well, I. . .'Alex faltered. Then Lorna nodded imperceptibly. 'I suppose that makes sense. Where ... where and when would we collect it ... him. The body bag?'
'I don't know. Should we say half-past-seven in the camp? You can drive the truck to the medical centre, and then form up afterwards with the rest of the convoy on the road outside.'
'All right. We'll do that, then.'
'Good. I'll alert everybody to expect you. Well, I'll leave you to er ...to talk about happier times. See you later.'
"Bye.'
Alex stared at his disappearing back and watched the front door close.
Then he turned to Lorna. Her face was taut with concentration.
'0 ... h,' he murmured, 'I can't tell you how glad I am to see you.' He hugged her like a life raft.
'Poor Alex,' she whispered, 'it must have been the most awful shock.'
'I can't take it in. I've been with him all the time for the last ten days and I never had a clue . . .'
At that moment she felt a strong urge to sit him beside her, put his big, square head in her lap and run her fingers through his hair. But there wasn't time and anyway she'd determined not to give in to feelings again.
'He seemed a normal, likeable guy. ..' she murmured.
'That's just it. He was, quite.'
'So what does it all mean?' she checked, easing herself from his embrace, 'You can take Vildana tomorrow?'
'I suppose so.'
'Then we have to move fast.'
'Is tomorrow too soon for you?'
'No, No! It'll be okay. Josip and I have just been up to the village again. The girl - she's real ready. Wants to go to America, now. They've filled her head with promises of non-stop Disney and Coke.' Her face twisted into a look of disapproval.
'Monika's moving her to the refugee centre in Travnik tonight. We'll have to fetch her from there early tomorrow morning. Like six-thirty? So we can get her hidden in the truck before you go into the camp to load the body.'
She was on overdrive, rattling off the plan as it evolved in her head.
'Lorna, hang on a minute. Can we really put her through that? A traumatized child huddling in the back of a truck for eight hours next to a corpse?'
'I know,' she winced. 'It's dreadful, but we don't have any alternative.
This is her only chance. And anyway, she'll never know the body bag's there. We'll make a little house for her in the truck and hide her in it before you drive into the camp.'
She saw the alarm and disquiet on his face.
'I know it's a long time for her to stay boxed up, but believe me this is a kid who's spent much of her life hiding .... I 'And what then? What happens to her in Split?'
'I don't know yet. Maybe we have to hang around a few days until we find the right home for her. All that's being taken care of over in the States.'
She crossed her fingers behind her back. She had no idea if there'd been a response ye
t to her appeal on the Internet last night.
'And if there's a problem with that, we'll Just start praying. . .'
Praying. Alex remembered the priest.
'Hey, I've got to tell you,' he said. 'Something else happened this morning.'
She was only half listening.
'I met the brother of the killer who led the Tulici massacre!'
'You what?'
'A priest, would you believe...' He explained.
'He wants him stopped. Killed if necessary. Said he'd help if he could. You see what this means? With the priest as a witness, telling what he knows of Pravic's psychopathic past, and your Vildana telling the court what she saw in Tulici, we've got him! We can get him locked up for life!'
'We?' Her jaw dropped. 'What do you mean we, Alex?'
He frowned, unsure what she was getting at.
'What are you doing here, Alex?' she demanded, eyes like darts. 'Who do you work for?'
'I told you. Bosnia Emergency.'
'Which nobody's ever heard of. . .' she retorted. 'Leastways, nobody I've spoken to.'
'It's only been going a few months, that's why.' Her venom puzzled him.
She spread her arms in disbelief
'And this is it? This is your organization? An old army truck and two guys, one of whom's a murdering paedophile and the other's a spook? Shi-it!'
'What are you saying? I don't understand. . .' But he was beginning to.
'Oh yes you do. You haven't changed. Still the guy with two faces. .
He saw pain and disappointment in her eyes. Belfast was biting back, like a kneecapping, never to be forgotten. She'd winded him.
'Lorna, you're wrong,' he pleaded.
The speed of her mood switch made his head spin. Her mask of sympathy over McFee's death had split to reveal the anger which had smouldered in her for decades.
It was the moment he'd dreaded from the instant he'd spotted her on the ferry from Ancona, but the crisis had come out of the blue. Its outcome would decide whether their extraordinary crossing and re-crossing of paths would end well or in bitterness.
He faced a critical choice. He could try to bluff his way out of a corner like before, or admit everything this time in the hope of stopping history repeating itself.
Whether she accepted his explanation would depend on one key question. Did she still want him as much as he wanted her?
Scorpion Trail Page 17
